Brotherhood
by Tri Lorian
Summary: Arthur receives word that Lancelot's brother Gareth has been brought to Britain as well. {Complete}


**A/N: A HUGE thank you to Shauna for reading it first despite final exams, for the encouragement, for correcting my grammar, and for suggesting words I would never ever have thought of using. Love ya, hon!**

* * *

Arthur paused in the streets, at the corner close to the tavern, uncertain on how to proceed. He sighed deeply while he shook his head, not wanting to go through with what he was about to do, but knowing it was inevitable. Straightening his back and gathering his thoughts, he went on, reaching the tavern all too soon.

"Arthur!" Dagonet's greeting reached easily across the distance that was still separating the Roman commander from the Sarmatian knights.

"Vanora, more ale!" Bors called out as he motioned at Arthur to sit at the table with them.

Arthur shook his head.

"Uh oh, he has his serious face on," Galahad stated with a lilt in his voice, lifting his ale jar yet again in an attempt to find its bottom.

Arthur rose his eyebrows at the state of his youngest knight at the still early hour in the evening. His gaze locked with Lancelot's, who was studying him with dark eyes.

Gawain reached over the table and took the jar of ale out of Galahad's hands. "You don't need anymore, do you? You're properly drunk already."

"Hey!" Galahad yelped undignified.

Lancelot watched Arthur carefully. He felt un uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. No matter how serious and brooding Arthur could turn on occasion, this was nothing like his usual demeanor.

"I need to speak with you," Arthur said, addressing Lancelot, never breaking their locked gaze.

"What did you do this time, Lancey?" Bors asked jovially.

Lancelot stood up from his seat to join Arthur.

His fellow knights waited for Lancelot to answer Bors' question in jest, but he remained silent. Slowly the other men became aware as well that something was wrong, seriously wrong. Everything always seemed right with the world as long as Lancelot went through life joking and flirting, but not like now. Silence descended over the table as they watched the retreating backs of their commander and his second in command.

Arthur led Lancelot towards the sparring fields not far away from the tavern where he knew they could talk uninterrupted. Lancelot followed silently.

When the Roman turned around to face his best friend, Lancelot finally spoke up. "What's going on, Arthur?"

Arthur took a deep breath, wishing he didn't have to inflict this pain on his best friend, but nothing was to be gained by delaying further. "Word has reached me that your brother was taken out of Sarmatia and has been brought to Britain as well."

Lancelot's eyes burnt into Arthur's soul as he just stood there, completely motionless, all colour drained from his face.

"Lancelot?" Arthur asked worriedly.

"Gareth?" Lancelot whispered. Suddenly, he swayed on his legs.

Arthur grabbed him by his shoulder to support him.

"Gareth?" Lancelot asked again, louder this time.

"Yes," Arthur replied quietly. "I'm sorry."

"No." Lancelot shook his head in denial. "No!" he repeated.

"I'm so sorry." Arthur's hand slipped from the younger man's shoulder as Lancelot took a step backwards. "Lancelot…"

"NO!" Lancelot screamed out.

–– 8 ––

The knights in the tavern all looked up at the same time as the sound of Lancelot's distress tore through the air. The dark knight's scream pierced them to the very marrow. Gawain could feel a shiver running down his spine.

Looks were exchanged, but no words. There was nothing to be said.

–– 8 ––

Arthur took a step towards Lancelot once more, who kept backing away from him. He noticed how the Sarmatian's hands were clenching and unclenching, like he was ready to strike anything within reach. "Lancelot… talk to me!"

Lancelot's face snapped up to meet Arthur's gaze. Ice cold fear and burning ire were reflected in the dark eyes. "Why?" he finally spoke up.

Arthur remained where he was and waited. He had never seen his friend behave like he was now. He had never heard him speaking with his voice laced with such hatred. He had never seen so much hurt reflected on his face.

"Why, Arthur?" Lancelot screamed. "Why did they take him?"

The Sarmatian's back hit a wall as he took another step backwards. Without a sound, Lancelot sank to the ground, sliding down the wall.

Arthur rushed forwards as soon as he saw Lancelot hitting the ground. He knelt in front of the dark knight, and placed a hand on his knee.

Lancelot looked up to his commander once more, a frozen fire dulling his eyes. "Why? They were only supposed to take one son from each family! Why did they take Gareth?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't have the answers either, Lancelot. I don't know. I wish by God I could have spared you this."

"Where is he? Do you know?" the Sarmatian asked hesitantly, quietly.

"His last station was down south, the fort at Brocavum," Arthur answered equally quiet.

The flame inside Lancelot's eyes stirred up again. Arthur caught the blinding light in a flash before the dark haired knight jumped to his feet. The Roman grabbed Lancelot by the arm to keep him from running off.

Lancelot responded like he had been cut by a sword. He tore his arm out of Arthur's grasp. "I have to find him! Don't stop me!" he added, his tone dangerous and threatening.

Arthur remained calm. He knew the explosive character of his knight and he understood the pain he was experiencing. He also knew that staying calm was the only thing that was going to help Lancelot. He shook his head slowly, placing his hand behind the Sarmatian's neck, both to prevent him from leaving as well as to convey his support. "You're not leaving alone. I've already ordered Jols to have the horses ready in the morning. We're all going to Brocavum." His eyes never wavered from Lancelot's face. "We're not leaving you to deal with this on your own, Lancelot," he added softly.

Lancelot bowed his head in understanding and defeat. He kept silent. When Arthur removed his hand, the dark knight immediately walked off without another word, his whole body language betraying the temper and pain that were flaring inside.

–– 8 ––

Arthur had gone back to the tavern to tell his knights what had occurred and to have them prepare for a long journey the following day. The Roman had seen the shock on all of their faces. They all had brothers and sisters, and could imagine clearly what Lancelot had to be going through right now.

Gawain had been supporting Galahad, who was anything but steady on his feet, towards the building where the knights' quarters were housed, when he had noted the black figure bending over in the shadow of the building, soon followed by the sound of vomiting.

"Dag? Can you take Galahad?" he asked to the tall knight walking behind them as he nodded towards the spot where he had seen Lancelot.

Quickly Dagonet draped Galahad's arm around his shoulder, allowing Gawain to slip out from underneath the other arm. Sadness shone in his eyes as he watched the blond Sarmatian walk towards Lancelot.

Lancelot rose to his feet as soon as he heard someone approaching. He looked behind him to see who it was, wiping his mouth with his hand.

Gawain took in Lancelot's pale appearance as he walked up to him. He didn't really know what to say to his friend that could be of any comfort.

"It's not right, Gawain…" Lancelot said, his voice drowning in hurt.

"No, it's not!" Gawain placed a hand on Lancelot's back as they walked in the direction where Dagonet had disappeared with Galahad. "If we ride hard and fast, we should be able to reach Brocavum within two days. We'll find him, Lancelot, we 'll find him!"

The blond Sarmatian gently steered Lancelot towards his room and towards his bed. "Sit down."

Lancelot allowed himself to be pushed onto the bed as he felt his stomach heaving once more. He swallowed heavily to push down the nausea that threatened to spill the rest of his stomach contents.

Gawain watched the dark knight with concern. Like Arthur, he had never before seen Lancelot act like this. Of course, never before had he been told that his younger brother had been drafted by the Romans as well. "Take a deep breath, and drink some water," he suggested while holding out a goblet with water. "You'll feel better."

Lancelot closed his eyes as he inhaled and exhaled deeply several times, before he took a careful sip from the cup, uncertain of his stomach's response.

"Better?" Gawain asked tentatively.

Lancelot looked at him, and briefly nodded with his head.

"Why don't you go to sleep? We're leaving at first light tomorrow," Gawain suggested, while taking the cup out of Lancelot's trembling hands, before it would fall to the floor.

Lancelot nodded once more, before he laid back on the bed, not bothering to take off any of his clothes. He closed his eyes, closing himself off from the outside world completely.

Gawain stepped out of the room quietly, severely unnerved by Lancelot's uncharacteristic behaviour. He almost bumped into Arthur who had been waiting outside. "Arthur."

"How is he?" the Roman asked concerned.

"Reeling with shock," the blond knight answered equally concerned.

"There is heavy fighting near Brocavum," Arthur said, his eyes on the door, like he would be able to look through them to see his knight.

Gawain remained silent for a few moments while his commander's revelation sank in. "Sweet Goddess, let us find Gareth in time!"

–– 8 ––

The first daylight had not even appeared when Arthur strode towards the stables to make sure that Jols would have the horses ready for traveling as soon as the sunrise announced itself. He wasn't really surprised to find all of his knights present already, dressed in light armour, ready to leave, as were the horses. "Knights," he greeted them.

Lancelot mounted his black stallion as soon as Arthur entered the stables.

Arthur took the reins of his white stallion out of Jols' hands.

"They are all ready. There are enough supplies for at least three days, but you should be able to get there sooner," the squire told Arthur, watching how all knights around him were mounting already, without waiting for their commander's order.

"Thank you, Jols," Arthur replied as he mounted his ride as well. He moved Excalibur to the sheath hanging over his white horse's left shoulder.

"Take care of him," Jols added softly, while nodding curtly in the direction of Lancelot.

Arthur thanked the squire with a look from his eyes. "Let's ride," he addressed his knights.

Lancelot touched his heels to his stallion's flanks and the horse sprang forwards easily, as eager as his rider to get going.

Arthur quickly followed his second in command, falling in step with the fast trot as he came riding alongside Lancelot.

–– 8 ––

The ride to Brocavum took nearly two days. Most of the journey the knights had ridden at a fast pace, Lancelot often leading, driving his stallion on at all times. Arthur had had to slow him and the others down often as not to exhaust their horses before the first day of their journey was over. Their rest moments had been short and rare. All knights had made it clear early on that they were willing to ride as long as the available light, either from the sun or the moon, would allow, showing their support to Lancelot, understanding his anger and pain.

Arthur knew that he was not alone in his concern for Lancelot, which kept growing with each passing hour. The dark knight was hardly talking, focused solely on getting them to Brocavum as fast as they could reach it. Only once had he spoken up. During all the time that he had served under Arthur's command, he had always supported his commander in choosing the safest instead of the shortest path to reach their destinations, caring more about everyone's safety and lives than about the length of their travels. This time he had argued with Arthur and Tristan about the best way to cross a small mountain ridge. Arthur had wanted to take the longer way, the safer way, around where Tristan had offered a faster but more dangerous path straight through the mountains. In the end Arthur had given in and they had followed Lancelot as he had led them over the treacherous path. The knights all crossed safely, saving at least four hours of traveling time.

Arthur and the other knights had more reasons to worry about Lancelot though, as had become clear during the night after their first day of travel. It had been midnight already before they had set up camp as the last traces of moonlight disappeared behind clouds, six bed rolls had been swiftly unrolled and not much later five Sarmatians and one Roman had been soundly asleep. Two hours later, Galahad, who had first watch, had been alerted by unfamiliar sounds from where he knew Arthur and Lancelot were sleeping. With his sword drawn he had approached. He had watched in surprise for a few moments as he had seen Arthur bending over a thrashing Lancelot, trying to shake him awake, as the dark Sarmatian was caught up in a nightmare. Lancelot seemed to calm down a little under Arthur's soothing voice, but he never woke up completely, Galahad could see. With a nod from his head, Arthur had let the youngest of his knights know that everything was alright. Galahad had awoken Gawain to take over his watch duty, but only a few hours later he had been wide awake once more as screams loud enough to be heard all the way back to Badon Hill reached him and his fellow knights. This time Arthur had shaken Lancelot until he was certain the curly haired man was awake. Lancelot's eyes had been filled with a haunted look, fear radiating from them, sweat pouring down his face and back. When the dark knight had recovered somewhat, he had jumped to his feet and told Gawain he would take over watch duty. Six pairs of eyes had followed him with concern as Lancelot had walked off.

When the first rays of sunlight had maneuvered themselves through the clouds, the dark knight had woken all of the others, ready to leave already himself, but looking more drawn and tired than before they had made camp the previous night.

–– 8 ––

As soon as the first contours of Brocavum appeared before them, Lancelot urged his black stallion on, galloping full out. Arthur didn't call him back, but went after the dark knight, knowing that the other knights would follow as well. With a wordless exchange, Arthur took the lead again as soon as they rode through the gates into the fortress as Lancelot was fully aware that the Roman would much faster find the answers they needed in a Roman fort than any Sarmatian knight ever could.

An eerie feeling crept over Lancelot as he took in the silence in the fort. Hardly any Roman soldiers were to be seen, and only a few villagers were busy in the streets. He watched as Arthur looked around with a surprised look on his face as well. The lay out of the fortress seemed somewhat similar to the fortress at Badon Hill that had been their home for so many years already. Arthur signaled to his knights to dismount, and with the reins in their hands they continued on, in the direction of the stables. A young man exited the building, watching in surprise at the seven knights approaching him. He stopped and waited for them to reach him.

Arthur stepped up to him. "I'm Artorius Castus, from Badon Hill. I'm looking for someone in command."

A pensive look crossed the young man's features. "I guess that would be centurion Crassus. You can find him in the valetudinarium. He was brought in wounded yesterday. Everyone else who can still stand or sit on a horse is fighting the Woads to the north." He nodded with his head in a direction to indicate where the fighting was taking place.

Arthur nodded in understanding. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Faolán. I take care of the horses," the young man answered.

Lancelot moved to stand next to Arthur, his impatience his guide. "We're looking for a Sarmatian knight by the name of Gareth. Do you know him?" he asked before Arthur could speak up.

Faolán blinked in surprise as he took in the dark knight. "Yes," he stammered before he recovered his voice enough to continue. "He was sent to the fortress of Galava several weeks ago, along with several other knights. We've not heard anything since then, only that the Woads are fighting with thousands and that there have been many dead." He hesitated for a moment. "Are you his brother?"

This time it was Lancelot who blinked in surprise. "Yes."

"Same face, same eyes," Faolán answered in response to the unspoken question.

"Another Lancelot," Bors chuckled behind Arthur and Lancelot. "I'm not sure I can handle that!"

"Or the women!" Galahad joined in, laughter in his voice.

Lancelot glared at them with burning eyes, effectively silencing both of them.

Arthur quickly defused Lancelot's rising temper by addressing Faolán once more. "How far is Galava?"

"A two day travel if you ride hard and fast," Faolán answered. "And if you don't run into any Woads. They are everywhere in the vicinity of Galava," he added.

Lancelot clenched his fists and closed his eyes as a feeling of utter despair and helplessness washed over him. He felt how Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder in support.

"Is there any place where we can rest our horses and find a place to sleep for ourselves?" Arthur asked.

Faolán nodded towards the stables. "You can rest the horses here. A lot of our own have been lost in the recent fighting, leaving plenty of room. You're welcome to spend the night here as well."

"Thank you," Arthur replied gratefully.

Faolán moved to open the doors to the stables to allow the horses to enter. "You can find something to eat at the end of this street in the tavern," he pointed.

"Sounds like a plan," Gawain answered as he led his white horse into the stables.

–– 8 ––

A sleeping place in the hay was definitely more comfortable than any sleeping place they could find while traveling outdoors, but sleep eluded Lancelot completely that night. With a sigh, he settled himself against a stack of hay, waiting for the sun to climb above the horizon.

He knew Arthur had been right in insisting that the knights spent the night in Brocavum before traveling on to Galava, but he couldn't stop the images of his brother lying dead with a sword or an arrow through his heart entering his dreams. From the moment that Arthur had told him that Gareth, like himself, had been brought to Britain by the Romans, he had felt the fear that had held his heart in a tight grip. He hadn't seen his younger brother in thirteen years. He wasn't even certain if he would recognize him if he were to come face to face with him. Or maybe he would, considering Faolán's reaction. Gareth had only been eight years old when he had been taken out of Sarmatian and away from his family himself. Since then he had heard nothing from them. He had held on to his belief that he would see them again when he returned to Sarmatia after the fifteen years of forced service were over. He had never allowed himself to think of the possibility that his father or mother might die in the meantime, succumb to illness, die in a war, or get killed in an accident. He had never wanted to think of his sister as anything but alive. He clutched the pendant she had given him tighter in his hand. He had always drawn strength from the presence of the pendant. It symbolized home for him. It symbolized why he had to stay alive, what he had to return to. And now he was being forced to consider that his family might not survive before he returned to them. His little brother, who he had thought to be safe in Sarmatia, was fighting in the same battles as he was, fighting battles not his own, fighting battles for Rome. He had watched so many of his fellow knights, friends, fall in battle. Every time one of them died he had felt as though a piece inside of him died. Some of them had been like brothers to him. Kay had taken Lancelot under his wings on the journey from Sarmatia to this wretched island. He had been devastated when Kay died. He had felt like he had lost his older brother. Only six of them were left now. He considered all of them as brothers, not just brothers-in-arms. Lancelot couldn't suppress the shiver going down his spine as the image of his blood brother lying dead on the soil of Britain entered his vision once again. He didn't even have to be asleep, or dreaming, to see the torturous images. They needed to get to Galava soon.

Lancelot pushed himself up to his feet, as silently as possible as not to disturb the other knights who all seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He walked over the hay towards the door of the stables. He needed to get out, he needed fresh air to clear his mind, to rid himself of the nausea, to ease his throbbing head. He looked back briefly to make sure he hadn't woken any of the others, before he stepped outside in the night. He welcomed the cold that penetrated him to his bones immediately. He didn't mind being numbed by the cold for now.

In the stables, Arthur watched concerned how Lancelot shut the door behind him. The Roman sighed deeply. From the moment he had been told about Gareth's presence in Britain, Brocavum, he had been scared for Lancelot, for Gareth. A feeling of foreboding had come over him, hiding in the back of his mind, but it had not left him since they had set out for Brocavum. He had sensed that Lancelot had felt it as well. Which made him even more scared for Lancelot, because he knew the temperamental character of his second in command, his best friend. He would do anything, with utter disregard for his own life, to find Gareth. Arthur closed his eyes, praying quietly to his God to keep both brothers safe and alive until they found Gareth in Galava. They needed to get there soon.

–– 8 ––

The journey to Galava went without incidents until they were about halfway. Tristan had alerted Arthur to the presence of small groups of Woads several times already, making it necessary to divert from their intended path towards Galava as many times as well. Lancelot had suffered the delays in silence as he had been silent the entire journey, his despair and anger growing inside of him slowly. It wasn't until midday of the second day of their journey to Galava that the dark Sarmatian lost his temper.

Tristan had reported more Woad activity directly ahead, and Arthur had ordered his knights to turn to the east to go around their enemies once more.

An unmistakable noise, the singing sound of Lancelot's swords being drawn from their scabbards, reached Arthur with unexpected clarity. He immediately twirled around to face his second in command.

"Why are you so afraid to confront them?" Lancelot spat out, his control over his temper completely gone. "It's only a small group! We have taken on and defeated more! We have already lost too much time!"

Arthur did not want to fight with his best friend, as it would only fuel his anger even further. He knew he would have to find a way to pierce the other man's rage and palliate the blaze of emotions. He didn't move as he started speaking in a soothing voice. "I don't want to go to Galava, find Gareth and have to tell him that his brother was killed on his way over there." He watched the dark knight intently, searching for any sign that he was getting through to him. "Lancelot! You are a danger to yourself as you are now! You're reckless, impulsive. I know you are hurting. I don't want to see you get killed. Not now, not ever!" Ignoring the deadly blades in the other man's hands, Arthur stepped up close to his friend, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "Please," he continued in a low voice, "just trust me now, and let me bring you safely to Galava to unite you with your brother."

Arthur knew he had gotten through to the Sarmatian as Lancelot bowed his head. He nodded silently. Abruptly, Lancelot stepped away from Arthur, mounting his black stallion without another word. Arthur watched with concern. The flash of despair passing Lancelot's face had not gone unnoticed by the Roman.

–– 8 ––

From fighting his emotions, Lancelot went straight into fighting the Woads as soon as they reached the perimeters of Galava. Tristan had pointed out the smoke blackening the sky miles away already. Arthur had ordered his knights to ready themselves for battle. When they reached the battlefield, there was no time to oversee the situation, as immediately they became the targets of burning arrows. Arthur's white stallion reared on his hind legs. The moment his horse touched the ground again, he kicked his flanks, and the great animal responded instantaneously, jumping forwards. Arthur's knights followed their commander closely, charging into battle, with Bors' battle cry following them on the wind.

Lancelot put his entire being, all of his bottled up temperament, anger and hurt behind the swings and thrusts of his twin swords. He crossed his blades with agile moves, surprising the Woads before him time after time. He had lost count of the amount of limbs and heads he had severed. But no matter how many he killed, another opponent always seemed to step up to him. He brought up his left blade with a powerful swing as a large axe was aimed at his middle. The force with which both weapons collided almost brought Lancelot to his knees. Immediately he let go off the sword, dropping it to the ground, surprising the Woad warrior, who went down on his knees instead, as his body followed the speed and direction of his own axe. Before he could recover, Lancelot thrust his right sword straight into the man's abdomen. Blood surged out of his mouth as his life drained away into the soil. With a hard pull, Lancelot withdrew his sword from the Woad's body, stepping aside as the lifeless body fell forwards. He picked up his other blade swiftly, and turned around immediately to face his next opponent.

The dark knight moved his swords in a rhythmic dance, blocking and deflecting the fast swings of the sword in the hands of the next Woad fighting him. He waited until he saw the first hint of a mistake, which was all the Sarmatian needed. Throwing up his right sword, he caught it again in mid-air, moving it forwards immediately, stabbing it into the Woad's throat, ending yet another life.

Before Lancelot could pull out the blade, he felt a strong arm wrapping itself around his neck and throat. He struggled to draw in air as his airway and larynx were slowly crushed. Vertigo flooded him as the arteries in his neck were nearly pressed closed. The dark knight gathered up all of his strength, and thrust his left sword backwards. He felt it hitting something hard and unrelenting at first, before it slid sideways and penetrated something soft. A choked sound from behind him told Lancelot that he had hit something vital. Black spots appeared in his vision as his body began shutting down. Slowly the chokehold slackened. Before Lancelot was able to draw a breath into his oxygen deprived lungs, the warrior collapsed against him. Unable to keep himself upright under the heavy weight, Lancelot went down to the ground, the large Woad landing on top of him.

With a mighty push Lancelot managed to get out from underneath the dead body. He gasped for air. His lungs were burning. He pushed himself up to his knees, bringing his hand up to his throat. It felt like his airway was still being crushed, like the air had to clear itself a path down to his lungs.

His ears were ringing so loudly that the Sarmatian did not hear how Arthur called out his name. He only became aware of him as the Roman halted his run next to him, letting himself fall down on his knees before him.

"Lancelot!"

Lancelot could only stare with wide open eyes at his commander, unable to answer as he willed his lungs to expand and deflate.

Arthur watched in horror as Lancelot desperately tried to breathe. He placed a hand on Lancelot's arm to steady him when he swayed dangerously. "Are you hurt somewhere?" he asked, his eyes searching the Sarmatian's body.

Lancelot shook his head. He felt like screaming as the burning sensation spread from his lungs to his veins throughout his entire body, but no sounds were able to force themselves out through his throat.

Arthur took in the angry red spots on Lancelot's neck and throat, understanding what must have occurred.

Slowly, Lancelot became aware of his surroundings again. Darkness was starting to set in, the fighting dying down with the dimming light. The many fires everywhere bathed the battlefield with an eerie glow.

Lancelot also saw how Gawain and Galahad ran towards him and Arthur, concerned looks etched on their faces.

"What happened?" Gawain panted as he came to a halt next to Arthur, watching Lancelot as he laboured to draw in breaths.

"A Woad nearly choked him to death," Arthur replied quickly. "Where are Dagonet and Tristan?" he asked, surveying the scene around him. He had spotted Bors walking over already.

"Tristan is gathering the horses. Dagonet is coming," Gawain answered, nodding to somewhere behind Arthur.

Arthur returned his attention to Lancelot. "Can you stand?"

Lancelot nodded hesitantly. The movement with his head caused spots to whirl before him again. He grasped at Arthur's arm for support.

Arthur quickly brought his free hand to Lancelot's other arm to keep him from crumpling to the ground. "Easy…"

Tristan reached the others as well, leading the horses behind him by their reins. "Tristan, take Lancelot's horse. He's riding with me. Dagonet help me to get him on my horse," Arthur ordered.

Lancelot wanted to protest but every movement he made caused his vision to blur and his lungs to burn more fiercely. His hands were tingling, almost numb and his grip on Arthur's arm was slipping.

Arthur felt how more and more of Lancelot's weight was resting on his hands. He saw how the dark knight blinked repeatedly as though to clear his sight. "Lancelot, stay with us! We'll get you to help soon." The Roman nodded briefly to Dagonet.

As gently as possible, Dagonet lifted Lancelot up in his arms, but the change in position was enough to make the dark knight gasp for air even worse than before.

Arthur swiftly mounted his white stallion, and reached down to take Lancelot from the big knight. Once Lancelot was seated before him, the Roman carefully wrapped his arm around the Sarmatian's chest, taking care not to hinder his efforts to breathe any further. Arthur took the reins in his hands, while looking over his shoulder to make sure that his other knights had mounted as well. He gently kicked his stallion in its flanks, bringing it to a slow step. He could feel Lancelot struggling to breathe evenly, his frame trembling against his with the effort.

The fort of Galava was not far from the battlefield and soon they rode through its gates. The streets were swamped with Roman soldiers running everywhere, villagers were moving about more slowly.

Arthur signaled for his knights to dismount. He waited as Dagonet helped him ease Lancelot to the ground, and dismounted quickly himself as soon as he felt the dark knight's weight lifted from his hands.

Dagonet supported Lancelot as his chest heaved and fell with his ragged breathing, however he seemed to be more secure on his legs than before.

Arthur handed the reins of his horse to Bors as he moved to stand next to Lancelot, taking over Dagonet's place in supporting the dark knight. "Dag, Tristan, find a place to stall the horses. Gawain, Galahad, see if you can find out where the valetudinarium is," he commanded.

"Wait…" Lancelot's voice sounded hoarsely, painful.

Surprised, six pairs of eyes turned towards the dark Sarmatian.

"I… don't… need… a… healer… We need… to… find… Gareth," Lancelot struggled to breathe and talk at the same time.

Arthur sighed internally. "The healer might know where to find Gareth," the Roman offered. A nod was enough to send his other knights off on their quests.

"Do you think you can walk?" Arthur asked Lancelot tentatively.

"Yes," Lancelot croaked.

Gawain and Galahad returned soon and directed the Roman and his second in command towards the valetudinarium. Many injuries had been suffered during the battles of the previous days, and they had to wait until the healer was finished with his other patients.

Lancelot was grateful to be sitting down. He leaned his head back against the cool wall, forcing his lungs to pump air in and out at a regular pace. His throat seemed to be burning worse than his lungs now. The numbness in his hands was slowly being replaced by a feeling of many needles being driven into his fingers all at once. The sharp pains only augmented his wish to scream out.

Arthur turned towards Gawain and Galahad once more. "We need a place to spend the night."

"We'll find something," Galahad answered in reply to the unspoken question. Gawain and he quickly disappeared into the busy streets.

The healer made his way over to Arthur and Lancelot. He nodded in greeting and took a seat in front of the Sarmatian. "You don't look very comfortable," he stated in a friendly voice.

Arthur briefly explained what had occurred. Lancelot flinched in pain as the healer probed his neck and throat with gentle hands. The healer sat back when he was finished, shouting a few orders to his assistants, before he turned back to Lancelot. "Your windpipe is damaged and swollen, making it very hard to breathe. It will heal on its own, but your throat will be sore for some time. I'll give you some poppy juice to take the edge of the pain but there's not much more that can be done. Do your lungs feel like they are on fire?"

Lancelot nodded briefly.

The healer nodded knowingly as well. "That should start to fade soon and make it less painful to breathe. I'm sorry there's not more I can do to help."

Arthur spoke up when the man started to rise to his feet. "There is something else you might be able to help us with."

The healer looked at Arthur questioningly as he sat back down.

"We came here looking for someone, a Sarmatian knight who was only recently sent here," Arthur explained.

The healer sighed quietly. "I see so many people coming and going, dying and living, that I have no idea anymore who is who." A thoughtful look crossed his features. "He would be cavalry, wouldn't he?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

"Decurion Tertius is in charge of several of the cavalry units. He should be able to help," the healer suggested hesitantly. "If he's willing…"

The healer supplied Lancelot and Arthur both with directions to the building that housed the decurions as well as with a small bottle of poppy juice. When they went outside, Tristan, Bors and Dagonet met up with them, with Galahad and Gawain joining not much later.

"There are three small rooms available at the tavern. And food," Gawain told Arthur.

"Good," Arthur replied. Quickly the Roman explained to his other knights where they were going and why.

Lancelot was grateful for Arthur's unwavering support as they walked into the direction of the decurions' quarters. His body was protesting every move he made, his breathing painful with every inhalation, but he had no intention to collapse before they had found his brother.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked softly next to him.

"Stop worrying… about me… We need to… find… Gareth." Lancelot's voice sounded firmer but no less hoarse as before. The poppy juice was starting to take effect slightly.

The healer's directions had been very accurate, and it didn't take Arthur long to find the building they were looking for. Inside a Roman soldier led them to Tertius' quarters.

A large man with dark hair was seated at a huge table in a beautifully decorated room. Piercing blue eyes above an aristocratic nose took in the Roman commander and Sarmatian knights, all covered in gore and blood from the recent battle, entering the equally large room. Contempt shone in his eyes.

"I'm Artorius Castus, commander of the Sarmatian knights, from Badon Hill," Arthur introduced himself.

"Arthur and his Sarmatian knights," Tertius repeated slowly, leaning back in his chair. "Your fame is spreading throughout the entire country." He spat out the last words like he had just tasted something disgusting.

Arthur's eyes narrowed at the attitude of the Roman before him. His jaws clenched as he straightened, his tall posture an threatening presence.

"What can I, a humble servant of Rome, do for you?" Tertius sneered.

Arthur's voice took on an equally cold tone. "We are looking for a Sarmatian knight who was only recently sent here."

"What's his name?" Tertius asked with disinterest.

"Gareth."

"Gareth?" Tertius repeated slowly, pensively.

"Yes," Arthur replied, keeping the irritation he was feeling out of his voice.

"Yes, I know who you mean," Tertius said, again drawing out every word. "I haven't seen him since I sent him and the others into battle this morning. Sarmatians are nothing but trouble, highly unreliable," he smirked at Arthur, as though he were sharing a secret between them.

Arthur forced himself to remain calm, and not let the man have the satisfaction of provoking him.

Lancelot's blood was boiling with rage but he managed to control himself. Finding out where Gareth might be was more important right now than killing the pompous Roman sitting smugly before them.

"He's probably dead," Tertius added casually. "Otherwise I'll have him punished for not reporting back after the battle."

Lancelot threw himself at Tertius before Arthur could react. Only the table separating the Sarmatian from the Roman decurion saved him from being killed. Gawain and Dagonet managed to reach the furious knight, yet they needed all of their strength to hold Lancelot back, despite his injuries.

"Let… go of me!" Lancelot demanded, his voice grating, but unmistakably threatening, as he fought to escape the strong hands on his arms.

Arthur realized that if Gareth was anything like his older brother, that he would never forsake his duties, which left only one possibility. "Where can we find the dead?"

Tertius eyed Lancelot warily as he continued to fight Gawain and Dagonet, his breathing coming in ragged rapid gasps. "Behind the valetudinarium until they can be buried or burned," he answered, sounding somewhat less secure about himself.

Without another word Arthur turned away. The others followed him outside, Gawain and Dagonet dragging Lancelot in between them. As soon as they were outside Arthur turned to them. "Let him go," he said quietly.

Lancelot's legs threatened to give way as Gawain and Dagonet slowly released their tight grip on his arms. Arthur immediately moved forwards to support him, watching him with more concern than ever before. "You don't have to go. We can go there and search for Gareth, while you stay here."

Lancelot shook his head, unable to answer over his strained and hurried breathing. He stared in the direction of the valetudinarium, the fear he was feeling openly visible on his face.

Arthur knew there could not have been a different answer from his friend. "Let's go," he said softly.

In silence the group of knights walked back towards the valetudinarium. When they arrived at the back of the building, a collective gasp of shock could be heard from the seasoned knights. Neat rows of dead bodies filled their sight, the stench of decaying and burning flesh overwhelming.

"We'll split up," Arthur suggested in a quiet tone of voice. "Bors, Dagonet. Gawain, Galahad. Tristan?" he spoke questioningly to his scout.

Tristan nodded and walked off, while Bors and Dagonet went off in the opposite direction. Gawain briefly placed a hand on Lancelot's shoulder, to convey his support, before he followed Galahad. Arthur glanced at Lancelot. The dark knight remained silent as he moved forwards to follow a line of dead bodies.

Suddenly Gawain's voice reached all of them. "Arthur!" The blond knight's voice was filled with regret, pity, and pain.

Lancelot's breath hitched in his throat, the reality of the situation threatening to send him to his knees.

Arthur gently guided the dark knight towards where Galahad and Gawain were waiting.

Lancelot's heart lurched as he came face to face with his brother for the first time in thirteen years. Before Arthur could do anything, Lancelot sagged to his knees, his face ashen white. He just stared at Gareth, not uttering a sound.

Arthur knelt besides Lancelot, ready to grab him if he were to collapse further. The other knights gathered around their brothers-in-arms.

Arthur took in Gareth's appearance. He closely resembled Lancelot many years ago, the innocence of youth on his face in stark contrast with the grey eternity of death.

The Roman watched his best friend closely, waiting for Lancelot to move, to say something, anything. A shock went through him as he took in the Sarmatian's dark eyes. The ever-burning and intensely vibrant eyes had lost all their passion. They seemed empty, hollow, the fire inside extinguished, his soul shattered. Arthur feared they might not only have lost Gareth, but Lancelot as well.

Gawain knelt down on Lancelot's other side. "Arthur," the blond knight spoke softly. "I think it's best if we take him away from here."

Arthur nodded. Gently he pulled Lancelot to his feet, Gawain supporting him on his other side. The dark knight yielded without any protests when Arthur urged him on and led him away from the lifeless body of his brother. His lack of speech was severely unnerving.

They all followed Galahad to the tavern. Lancelot walked in between Arthur and Gawain as though he hardly remembered how to put one foot in front of the other. Fortunately, the tavern was only a short walk from the valetudinarium. Arthur guided Lancelot into one of the rooms, his hand never leaving Lancelot's arm as he supported him. Gently he pushed the dark knight down to sit on one of the beds. When the Roman was certain that Lancelot could keep himself upright, he sat on his heels in front of him.

"Lancelot?" Arthur asked quietly. "Lancelot, can you hear me?"

Slowly Lancelot moved his head in Arthur's direction, but no reply came forwards.

Arthur tried to catch his gaze, but the Sarmatian seemed to be staring into an empty abyss. He exchanged a concerned glance with Gawain who had followed them into the room. "Lancelot?" he tried again.

Arthur gripped Lancelot by his arms, lightly shaking him, hoping to pull him out of his dazed state. The Roman immediately released his friend as his breathing started to become more tattered and laboured than before. "Lancelot!" he said louder this time.

Lancelot remained unresponsive no matter how Arthur tried to reach him. With a heavy weary sigh, Arthur rose to his feet. "Can you stay with him?" he asked Gawain as he continued to watch Lancelot. "I need to see about Gareth's cremation." He knew Lancelot wasn't capable of dealing with it right now, and he felt he owed it to his brother in all but blood to take care of the matter in his place.

Gawain nodded knowingly. "Of course."

When Arthur returned to the room an hour later, he found Lancelot asleep on the bed, Gawain and Galahad watching over him.

"I sent Galahad to fetch the healer. We explained what had happened and he administered something to Lancelot to ensure that he would sleep through the night," Gawain explained. "He was scaring us, Arthur. We didn't know what else to do," he added, his voice thick with concern.

"If you hadn't send for the healer, then I would have," Arthur replied gratefully. He looked down with concern at his sleeping knight. The paleness of his skin brought the same innocence to his face as Arthur had witnessed earlier on Gareth's corpse.

–– 8 ––

When Arthur awoke the next morning, the first thing he noticed was Lancelot standing unmoving in the window opening, staring outside, watching the preparations for the many burials and cremations that were to commence that day. Not wanting to startle the Sarmatian, Arthur stepped out of his bed, quietly stating his name. "Lancelot."

Lancelot's head snapped around at the sound of his name. His gaze met Arthur's.

Fury and hurt, anger and grief were fighting a battle of their own in Lancelot's eyes. Arthur was glad to see that life had returned to the dark eyes, no matter how painful it was to watch.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked gently.

As suddenly as he had turned to look at Arthur, Lancelot turned his head back towards the window.

"Lancelot?" Arthur asked confused, worried.

Lancelot shook his head without turning back to face the Roman.

Arthur remained standing next to the dark knight for quite some time even though it had become obvious soon that Lancelot was not going to talk to him, at least not right now.

A quiet knock on the door pulled Arthur out of his thoughts. He placed a hand on Lancelot's shoulder soothingly. "I'll be back soon," Arthur spoke up, before slipping out of the room silently.

–– 8 ––

Upon returning, Arthur found Lancelot still standing next to the window as though he had not moved from his place at all. The Roman moved to stand next to his friend. "It's time."

Arthur could hear Lancelot's laboured breathing catch for a moment, before continuing in an even more ragged fashion.

The dark knight turned away from the window and moved towards the door without a word.

"Lancelot," Arthur pleaded with the younger man. When Lancelot didn't respond, he quickly followed him out of the room.

The other knights were already waiting for them outside the tavern. When Lancelot walked past them without acknowledging them, many concerned glances were sent Arthur's way. The Roman had nothing to offer to appease the worry and fear the other Sarmatians had for their friend and fellow knight.

In silence they walked together to the field behind the valetudinarium. Gareth was only one body in a long row of bodies of fallen knights and soldiers that were to be burnt.

As they watched how Gareth's body was wrapped in cloths and a flame held to it, Arthur saw how Lancelot started to shudder violently, wavering on his legs slightly. Arthur placed a hand on his arm, immediately feeling the tremors coursing through his knight. The Roman commander knew that Lancelot was fighting back his emotions, holding himself together, but he didn't know for how long the younger man intended to do just that.

The flames licked at the cloths surrounding Gareth's body. At first the fabric denied the fire access to the flesh beneath it, but soon the flames engulfed the body as well, freeing its spirit.

Suddenly Arthur felt the arm beneath his hand tensing up. Again Lancelot walked off, not saying a word to either Arthur or his fellow knights.

Arthur followed immediately. "Lancelot?"

For the first time since finding Gareth's dead body, the dark knight spoke. "No," came Lancelot's reply, his voice brimming with pain and grief. His tone brought Arthur to a halt.

Gawain looked concerned from Lancelot's retreating back to Arthur. "He is going to fall apart soon, and it will be brutal," the blond Sarmatian stated quietly.

Arthur nodded slowly in agreement, before he went after Lancelot.

They found the dark Sarmatian in the stables where he was readying his black stallion for the long journey back to the Wall. He didn't even look up when Arthur and the other knights entered.

"When are we leaving?" Galahad asked, opening the door to the stall where his grey horse was lazily eating from her hay. The mare snorted in welcome to her rider.

"As soon as everyone is ready to leave. Bors, Tristan, make certain we have enough supplies," Arthur ordered.

–– 8 ––

An hour later that they had ridden out of the gates of the fortress at Galava, destined to arrive at Badon Hill merely four days later.

Lancelot had remained silent throughout the entire journey. Arthur had not moved from his side, his concern growing stronger each day. He had watched and waited for signs that the knight was about to come apart as Gawain had predicted, but none had come forwards. Anything would have been better than the continuous silence, Arthur considered. Even an outburst of anger, a complete loss of control over his temper, would have been better. All of them, Arthur included, had at one time or another tried to get Lancelot to talk, to speak up, but all of their attempts had failed. Arthur knew how stubborn and strongheaded Lancelot could be, and he admired the quality most of the time, had felt grateful for it more than once, but this time he was terrified that it would hurt the dark knight worse than just letting out all of his anger and rage and pain.

On the fourth day of their journey the Wall doomed up in their sight, and in the late afternoon they finally rode underneath the heavy gates. After dismounting in the stables, Lancelot went off to his room without another word, slamming the door closed behind him. It was the first time since he had fallen to his knees next to Gareth's dead body that his suppressed emotions managed to leak past his strong facade.

–– 8 ––

Night had long fallen over the fortress when Tristan made his way to Arthur's quarters. He entered quietly, not wanting to startle the Roman, for he knew that Arthur was no more asleep than any of the others were.

"Lancelot is up on the battlements. He has been pacing the length of the fortress for quite some time already," Tristan stated. "I tried to approach him, but the look in his eyes told me to back off. I think it's better that you go to him," the scout explained to his commander, while uncharacteristically showing the worry for his fellow knight on his face and in his voice. The thunder in the dark knight's eyes had been frightening.

Arthur nodded and rose to his feet. "Thank you," he said gratefully to his scout. Arthur hurried out of his room and through the nearly empty streets towards the battlements. He easily spotted Lancelot in the soft light of the moon. Slowly he walked up the stairs to the battlements, uncertain of how to approach his distraught friend.

When Arthur reached the top, Lancelot immediately turned to him, his eyes spitting fire.

"Lancelot…" Arthur's voice caught in his throat as he watched the dark knight before him.

In an ultimate gesture, Lancelot drew his twin swords and threw them with a powerful swing of his arms over the battlements into the depths on the other side of the wall.

Arthur stepped back involuntarily: surprised, stunned, horrified. He knew how much the double blades meant to Lancelot. He knew how much it must mean to him to part with them now. He knew how Gareth's death affected him and he understood it was driving the Sarmatian to do so.

Lancelot screamed as he let the fury inside him rage, his dark eyes burning with all-consuming pain. The scream echoed around the walls, bouncing back several times, enveloping the two men on top of the battlements. The sound of Lancelot's hair-raising scream made Arthur shudder.

Lancelot turned back to Arthur, screaming at him. "I'm not fighting one more damned battle for the bloody Romans ever again! They can kill me, hang me, throw me in prison, whatever they wish, but I'm never taking one more life for their cause!"

Arthur didn't move. He knew he would push his best friend over the edge of sanity if he approached now, no matter how much he wanted to console him. He just stood there, waiting for Lancelot's next move.

He didn't have to wait long before Lancelot's knees gave way and the dark knight collapsed to the cold stones. Lancelot brought his hands up to his face, covering his eyes.

Immediately Arthur moved forwards, intent on comforting his heartbroken knight.

"Go away," came Lancelot's frayed voice.

"No," Arthur answered quietly, not moving forwards, but not moving backwards either.

"Go away!"

"No." Arthur remained motionless, summoning all the calmness he possessed.

"GO! AWAY!" Lancelot screamed with all his might, whipping his head up to look at Arthur, his features distorted in pain and grief.

"No."

Lancelot did not answer this time.

Arthur moved closer to Lancelot, his gaze locking with the Sarmatian's, his green eyes staring beseechingly into Lancelot's own. "Tell me about Gareth," he pleaded quietly.

The Roman could see that something inside Lancelot broke, his anger fading, replaced by grief, hurt and sadness.

"I never had a chance to say goodbye to him," Lancelot whispered. Tears started to stream down his cheeks, his shoulders trembling.

Arthur sat down besides the younger man, wrapping his arms around him. The much feared knight sobbed inconsolably in his commander's arms.

"I wish I could pray for him," Lancelot managed to say ever so softly.

"Why don't you then?" Arthur asked equally quietly.

"I don't believe there's anyone listening."

Arthur's heart lurched at the loneliness in Lancelot's voice. "I prayed for him. And for you." The Sarmatian began to shake uncontrollably as sobs racked his body.

"I just wanted to talk with him once more," Lancelot uttered through his tears.

Arthur knew his friend no longer meant talking with God, but with Gareth instead.

"Talk to us instead. Tell us everything you would want to say to him. Tell us everything you remember of him," Arthur pressed once more.

"It's all fading, no matter how hard I try to hold on to the memories. I… I don't remember a lot about him. Or about… about my mother, my father, my… my sister." Lancelot's shoulders shook as he tried to get the words out. "I remember how brave he was when the Romans came to our village. He told me that he… he would protect our mother and father while I… I was away." Lancelot buried his head into his hands again as the pain washed over him. Arthur held him close as he tried to get control over his emotions.

"Why did they take him, Arthur? Who is protecting our family now?" Lancelot's voice was torn with anguish. "I don't even know if they are still alive!" Violent tremors tore through his frame once more.

Lancelot's heartwrenching sobs tore through Arthur's soul. He understood the younger man's pain. His own parents had both been dead for a long time, and he missed them, but at least he knew of their fate, unlike Lancelot, unlike his other knights.

Once Lancelot finally opened up, there was no stopping the tears and the grief from pouring out anymore. The two friends sat together for a long time, Lancelot talking, Arthur listening, sometimes the other way around. When Lancelot was too exhausted to talk anymore, they sat together in silence, but this time the silence between them was comforting, supportive, healing.

Arthur gently hauled Lancelot to his feet as the rising sun cast its first pale rays over the battlements. He more carried than supported the emotionally and physically drained knight to his room and bed. Lancelot was asleep before Arthur could close the door behind himself on his way out.

–– 8 ––

Arthur left the main hall of the fortress where he had just informed his knights of their duties for the next few days. Lancelot's seat had been empty. Arthur had caught himself glancing over to where his second in command usually sat several times. The dark knight never missed a chance to offer objections, opinions and advice, either asked for or unasked, and the Roman commander had felt not completely whole without him.

Tristan had told Arthur that he could find Lancelot on the hill besides the fortress. He found his knight at the utmost top of the hill. The sight of Lancelot without his inseparable twin swords sent a shiver down his spine. Arthur sat down next to Lancelot. A strong east wind surrounded them.

"How are you doing?" Arthur asked.

Lancelot briefly looked at his commander, before returning his gaze to the green fields before them. "I'll be alright," he said, sadness in his voice, but reassuringly as well. "Just give me some time."

Arthur clasped Lancelot's shoulder briefly in reply.

"We are leaving on patrol tomorrow," Arthur said. He watched the Sarmatian closely to see how he would react. "Lancelot, I won't order you to come with us, but please consider that we need you. With you at my side, we can defeat anyone, triumph anywhere. Think of Gawain, Galahad, Tristan, Dagonet. They all have brothers and sisters to return to. Think of Bors and his children, Vanora. We need you, Lancelot. We need you to reach the freedom for which we're all longing."

Lancelot listened silently.

Arthur waited a little while but when he realized that Lancelot wasn't about to answer him, he stood up to leave. He started walking down the hill when Lancelot suddenly spoke up, almost startling Arthur.

"Thank you."

Arthur simply nodded, before he continued back to the fortress.

–– 8 ––

The next morning, Arthur and the knights gathered in the stables to prepare to leave. Lancelot's black stallion whinnied loudly, protesting against being left behind.

Three hours after they had ridden out, Tristan turned around in the saddle, suddenly aware of someone approaching from behind at a fast pace. The scout spurred his grey horse on, riding past the other knights, to the front where Arthur was leading them.

"Arthur."

Arthur's eyebrows rose questioningly as Tristan came riding next to him. "What is it?"

The scout pointed to somewhere behind him. "Someone is approaching. Fast."

Arthur turned around as Tristan had done before to look for himself, surprised at his scout's lax posture, when suddenly understanding dawned. A small smile graced his lips as he watched the horse and its rider riding towards them. Arthur signaled for his other knights to hold still.

Lancelot raced towards them at full speed. The sun reflected off the gold decorations of the twin swords on his back. He drew his horse to a sudden halt when he came level with the group of awaiting knights.

"Lancelot," Arthur greeted the dark knight, a smile in his voice.

"Arthur," the Sarmatian replied as his horse danced beneath him, a serious look on his face. "I've lost one brother, I couldn't bear to lose more! Especially not while standing back and doing nothing to protect them." Gareth's death had hit him hard, and he wasn't certain he would ever recover completely, but the realization of how much he cared for the others had made him go after Arthur and his fellow knights.

Arthur rode up to Lancelot, and their gazes met. Arthur's green eyes conveyed more than he could ever say. He briefly grasped his friend's hand.

The other knights rode up to the dark haired man as well, cuffing him on his head, slapping him on his shoulder, letting him know how glad they were to have him in their midst again.

A grin broke on Lancelot's face. "I can't let you go on your own; you'll all get killed!"

Undignified protests broke out all around him. Lancelot kicked his horse in his flanks and sped off at full speed once more, his fellow knights following, laughter echoing behind them.


End file.
